


Best Laid Plans

by NinondeLenclos, rosa_himmelblau



Category: Wiseguy
Genre: POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9815789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinondeLenclos/pseuds/NinondeLenclos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosa_himmelblau/pseuds/rosa_himmelblau
Summary: Sonny dies.Vinnie gets taken off to jail.What's going on with Frank?





	

"I wish it was you."

You were hurting, you were in shock—you didn't mean it.

First cases are always hard. I tried to explain it. But you never listen. Another Stan Dermott Special—headstrong and too smart for your own good.

The house is quiet. Jenny might as well live in Trenton for all she wants to do with me anymore. At least Drake was glad to see me. But he spent the day out with his friends so he's turned in early tonight.

Now it's just me, one half-finished Irish, and something in my gut that keeps saying this isn't over yet. I knew this case was bad news from the beginning, putting a rookie into the middle of something that big. Daryl must've been crazy, giving you the case just because you pouted and threatened to run home to your mother. And Daryl bought it because he was having those visions of his name up in lights again.

Some lights. Nearly a year to get Steelgrave and now the case is up in smoke.

Well, nobody's gonna forget this one, that's for sure. Maybe we should take out an ad, "When the OCB comes after you, we get you. One way or another."

God, now I'm doing it. It's not funny, there's nothing funny about it. Steelgrave was no angel, but nobody should die like that.

And you're no model agent either, but you sure as hell don't deserve this.

I kept telling you to watch your step with Steelgrave. I couldn't believe you were that naive, believing he trusted you. Guys like that don't trust anybody. Steelgrave wasn't any different.

But you kept insisting that he did. And you never seemed afraid of him.

Surely you didn't think the car and apartment meant you were special to him. How many other guys do you think had that place first? It was just sitting there empty and Steelgrave wanted to show off. That's all there was to it.

Same thing for the clothes. Steelgrave needed the help to look good so the other Families wouldn't think he was cheap.

But you were willing to put your life on the line to keep him safe. I've gotta be missing something here.

I feel like I'm trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle with no idea what the overall picture is and you've got half the pieces in your pocket. Hell, I need another drink. I've been getting nowhere with a clear head. Maybe the booze will loosen the cogs, let me see what's going on here.

Leaning against the kitchen counter I feel a hard lump in my pocket and fish it out. I got so busy today I completely forgot about that gold Rolex of yours. One of the state boys found two watches tossed on the floor in the theater and gave them to me since I was in charge. I figured one was Steelgrave's so this's got to be yours even though it's not the same one you had a few months ago.

Five thousand dollars. It's a beauty, but that's an awful lot of money when a fifteen dollar Timex would do the same job. What'd you think, the guys in Property would steal it? Maybe; prisoners' valuables have a bad way of disappearing while they're in custody. But it's not like it's yours. Vince, what was going on there? What haven't you been telling me? Why does this hunk of metal mean so much to you? It's just a watch— **isn't it**?

I ought to turn this in myself. But you made me promise to hold it for you. And I keep my word. You need to know that.

You were silent in the car on the way to the station. Except for that one time you started talking about your dad, rambling about honor and loyalty. You said your dad always told you and Pete that an honorable man never betrays his friends. But even if you considered Steelgrave your friend, how much honor were you really expecting from him?

Yeah, and what about that threat you made against Scullisi? I know you liked Steelgrave, but surely you didn't mean that you'd have killed for him. At the time I thought you were just being melodramatic, but now I don't know. I think you were dead serious.

And why, when Steelgrave thought you'd turned on him, didn't he get rid of you while he was at it? If it'd been Patrice, you never would've gotten out of that room alive. So why the free pass? Steelgrave was never soft before. Christ, the guy stared down the US Senate.

But he talked about letting you go. Letting you go—that just doesn't add up.

Vince, why didn't you talk to me?

Yeah, and if you had? What would I have said? Quote more rules from the OCB handbook. Yell at you, instead of really listening to what you were saying. Or trying to say.

When did I forget how to do this job? And why am I thinking about myself when you're in trouble?

And you are in trouble. I must have been blind not to see it. You were scamming me at the same time you were scamming Steelgrave. Sometimes I forget how good you are at this.

But you weren't faking on that stage with Steelgrave. I don't think I've ever seen that kind of agony before. That said it all. Maybe I would have understood it if there hadn't been a dozen cops running around. When you were talking about honor and loyalty, you weren't talking about Steelgrave.

And then all those cracks the cops were making about him; your eyes were just blank. Used to you would've taken their heads off for something like that. But this morning you just stood there.

You don't know who you are, what side you're on.

Except when that moron said Sonny was a coward since his brother would've taken the rap like a man. Right then you knew whose side you were on, and it was Steelgrave's. And you were ready to blow your cover and everything else to defend his honor. For a minute that old fire was back in your eyes. But it disappeared and I could see the knife in your heart.

Dammit, I should've done something, gotten you out of there so you didn't have to go through that.

Even if Steelgrave was a hood, those guys were acting like vultures, with their French fry and Christmas tree jokes.

**Our** side. Makes a man proud to be a cop.

. . . That's what you meant. I heard you mutter something as they were taking you down to Holding. But I couldn't understand you and I couldn't confront you with all those cops around. You said you should've shot Hawthorne, didn't you?

Jeeze. I can't believe I missed that. Instead, all I was thinking about was the extra paperwork this was gonna create for me. Then that smartass morgue attendant refused to give me a copy of the autopsy report since I wasn't "authorized." By the time I straightened him out and got back from the morgue, Lorenz's guys from the New York office had shown up trying to claim you, Mahoney, Baglia, and the rest on the grounds that the "crime" happened in New York, not New Jersey.

Arguing with them didn't do any good so I finally had to drive to Manhattan and have it out with Lorenz himself. I'd never met him before, but word was that he was as big a publicity hound as Daryl. And big-time arrests like this would put him on every front page in New York. But there's no way I was going to let them take credit for your all hard work in Jersey. I couldn't tell them about you though so I said that once Steelgrave's goons grabbed me in front of my kid, I swore I'd personally see them sitting in a Trenton Federal courtroom. It's no lie either. Drake saw the way I looked when I got back from the laundry and for the next week he'd tense up every time a car drove by the house. I can take whatever this job dishes out. But hurting Drake is something no one gets away with while I'm breathing.

Lorenz still didn't want to give anybody up, but a call to Washington finally made him see **who** had priority here. It was the middle of afternoon by then, so I decided to go back to Atlantic City since arrangements to get you back home were already set up.

I wasn't kidding when I said you got close; I knew you had. You were as close to Steelgrave as his brother at the end. You tried not to let me know about it, but I had plenty of reports that talked about you. Did you think you were invisible, that the local cops wouldn't see you? They'd been watching Sonny and Dave for a long time so when you showed up they were bound to notice.

Your ears should have been singed, the way you were talked about. You wanted to be the Steelgraves' hand-picked protégé—well, you were. And everybody knew it. That's why those bozos were rubbing it in today. They'd heard you were Sonny's fair-haired boy and seeing the two of you come crashing down made their day. Just like it made Hawthorne's when they were burying Dave.

He meant that much to you. I should have seen that; you took him to your mother's house for Sunday dinner. But why? What the hell happened? You wanted to bring him down so bad when you first started this case.

No, that's not right. It was Dave who killed Stan. And it was Dave you were after.

And Sonny—what? Gave you stuff? Huh-uh, you weren't for sale. So what? Why'd you get so close? He wasn't any better than his brother.

So what was it? You talked about how lonely he felt after Dave was killed. Was that it? He didn't have a family anymore, and thanks to your mother, you were cut off from your own. Is that how it started, both of you were in the same boat?

I know how much time you spent together; one of the cops called you his new shadow.

And you were. Every time we got photos of him outside, there you were, just a few feet away. Used to it would've been Dave by his side.

Familiarity doesn't always breed contempt. More often just spending time with someone creates affection. That's what happened, isn't it, Vince? You both had holes in your lives that needed filling, and you just connected.

Usually these guys just keep their right hands around for business. But he was different. He took you to ball games and fishing that I know of. Who knows how many other things you did together?

And when your mom was in the hospital, he didn't hesitate to spring for the best room and doctors. That's when it really changed isn't it? That's when you starting seeing him as just somebody you liked. I fought for you with Daryl, but you had no way of knowing that. He didn't want your mother to ever find out about you.

I rode you hard, but dammit, how was I supposed to know what was going on with your family? You didn't confide in me.

But Steelgrave was there, giving you what you couldn't get anywhere else. Of course you turned to him. And from what I've heard, he turned to you, too. Treated you like he never had anyone before. He told your mother he thought of you like a brother.

You were a replacement for his brother, but Vince, your brother is alive and well. And he loves you.

Steelgrave was alone, but your family's still alive. They may not be talking to you right now, but they're still there, and you won't be doing undercover work forever.

So what was the big attraction? You didn't care about the money he was paying you, the car or the penthouse. And if you told me the suits were important to you, I'd call you a liar. I don't think you needed that reflected power to get the girls, either.

It has to have been the man himself. Something about him, something I can't see—something I **don't want to see** —that got to you. To the point that you started thinking of him as your family when you have a family. As your partner when you have a partner.

You took everything that happened to him so personally—it's like you were merging with him. When Patrice was homing in on him, you should've been figuring out how to use that to build a case against Patrice, not focusing on your duties as Steelgrave's right hand. Trying to convict them all, not trying to help him win.

Well, it's not like you're the only one who liked him. Even a couple of the local cops admitted he was charming. And the secretaries were all crazy about him, but then that was—

Oh, shit.

Is that it? The way you looked at him, your body language, it was all too intimate. That's it, that's it. Dammit, Vince, I had no idea. Who you want to sleep with is your own business, but **him**? This could've ruined our whole case—your whole career.

And Steelgrave? His record said he had a string of women a mile long. And not a hint to indicate something like this. Nothing from you either. No, come to think of it there was that time three months ago. You were late for our meeting and when you finally dragged in you couldn't stop yawning. Now what was it you said? "Nah, no girls, just me and Sonny like always. He keeps me up half the night." That was a slip up, wasn't it? No wonder you clammed up so quickly. You knew I would've yanked you off the case on the spot if I found out. The OCB has good reasons for rules against agents getting personally involved with their targets. Hell, Vince, even common sense would have warned you against something as boneheaded as this.

But that's the problem, you **aren't** stupid.

And Steelgrave wasn't either. He had to know how dangerous it'd be for both of you if word got out. The Mob never has been very tolerant of its members doing it with other guys. Hah, **zero** tolerant is more like it. Were you worth that much to him? Who am I kidding? Before he stuck his hand into that electrical box Steelgrave said he loved you. I heard it, but I just thought he meant like a brother, like he told your mother. It never occurred to me he meant the real thing.

But it explains a lot. Vince, you've got a natural gift for this kind of work, but fact is, it never made sense that you could move up so fast. That kind of thing takes years. Most guys never even make it halfway to the top. And it doesn't take much to make that bunch suspicious. Yet Steelgrave always bought those stories of yours, even the lame ones.

Well, sure he did. Isn't that the one thing we all have in common, lying to ourselves about love? And you'd given him every reason to want to believe you. To stand by you even when the evidence said he shouldn't.

That's why he gave you the new watch, the one just like his own. And it's why you wanted me to keep it for you. It isn't just a watch to you. It's everything the two of you had— And then he found out the truth.

Now it's all you've got left.

Well, I took your watch, stuck it in my pocket and told you everything would be OK. Like all it'd take would be some down time and you'd be ready for another case. And then what did I do? Had you put in solitary where the only thing you can do is keep running this over and over again in your head. I've trapped you—just like you trapped Steelgrave.

I thought you'd finally be safe in a cell by yourself. One less thing for me to worry about—how could I be so wrong?

I'm getting a real bad feeling about this. Maybe if the two of you weren't—hell, I don't want to think about what you were. But I've got to because it makes all the difference now. I know Jenny and I aren't at our best, but what would I do if she killed herself because of something I did? I still love her and I'm not sure how I'd handle knowing something like that.

And that's where you're at now, isn't it? Sure, Steelgrave chose to put his hand into that electrical box, but he wouldn't have been in that theater in the first place if you hadn't chased him. I don't know what happened there, but judging from our records and everything you said about him, Steelgrave wasn't the quitter type. As long as he thought there were alternatives or a way out, he would've have fought us. In court, at the door, whatever.

So what made him think otherwise? Was it something you did, something you said? Vince, is that why this is hitting you so hard? That has to be it. When you said you wished it was me dead on that stage instead of Steelgrave you didn't really mean me. You were talking about yourself. You were wishing you were dead, weren't you? You still do.

Damn, it's two a.m. and it's a four-hour drive back to the station. I need to get you out of there, try to talk you out of this, but who knows where you'll be by the time I get there.

Information gives me the station number and a couple of transfers later I finally get a desk sergeant who's not crazy about his latest break being interrupted by a Jersey Fed with a bad attitude. But I'm tired and worried and not in any mood to put up with his excuses.

"Look, I don't care **how** short-handed you are tonight. You go check on him, right now. And don't just put down the phone, get yourself a cup of coffee and come back and tell me you checked on him. You go down there and look into his eyes. **Then** you come back and tell me he's all right. And if he's not, you get somebody to stay with him."

So I'm put on hold with perky Muzak blaring in my ear. Music's fine, but after five minutes of this stuff I'm ready to shoot someone.

"Mr. McPike?" Sleeping Beauty's back at last and it only took ten minutes. "He looks fine to me. Just lying on his bunk staring at the ceiling."

"Good, I want to keep it that way. Terranova's being transferred to Manhattan tomorrow and I don't want to hear that some of your inmates paid him a visit during the night. So you're going to post a man outside his cell until I pick him up in the morning. Got that, Sportshoes?"

Maybe the baby-sitter is going overboard, Vince, but I'd rather be safe than sorry with you. 

I'm not sure how I'm going to handle this. Jenny says I'm incapable of talking about "important things." Maybe she's right, I don't know. But I've seen other agents head down the same road you're on right now. And damned if I'm going to stand by and let you end up like they did.

I'd hoped you would've snapped out of it during the night. Wishful thinking. You've still got that same empty look I saw yesterday at the station. They're expecting us at headquarters for debriefing, but I'll make some excuse. You're in no shape to face anybody. Daryl'll just have to postpone his victory party for another day.

It's a nice day, Vince. I can see why Steelgrave wanted to get married up here. Jersey is nice, but there's something about the woods in this part of New York that makes you relax on the spot.

We've been driving for nearly an hour now and you haven't said one word. I wish you'd say something. My supply of small talk is about to run dry. Relief; there's a diner up ahead. "Vince, I could go for some coffee. How about you?"

The waitress is taking her time. I hate leaving you out there, but I need a break and maybe some hot coffee inside you will help you open up. The waitress puts the cups in one of those cardboard box things so they won't turn over. I pick up a pack of cigarettes and some matches too. I know you smoke when you're upset and you didn't have any at the station.

You haven't moved a muscle by the time I get back in, but I shove the box with the coffee into your hands. "Better drink up before it gets cold." I guess my cheery voice isn't working because you don't even touch your coffee. Finally you reach for the cigarettes and light up without a word. It's not much, but it's something.

"Did you ever do something you wouldn't want your father to know . . . ?" Your voice is low and subdued, but I'm relieved just to hear it.

"Sure; in high school me and some of the guys went to this strip joint just outside of town."

"No, I don't mean kid stuff, stuff you would'a got in trouble for at the time. I mean wouldn't want him to know about ever."

"My father and I weren't close."

"I was close to mine. I'm glad he's dead." I can't believe I'm hearing this.

"You don't mean that. You can't mean that."

"If he was alive, he'd know—he always knew stuff, he could always read me. If he knew . . . . He loved me when he died." Your voice is soft and wistful.

"Of course he loved you—Vince, what would he know?"

"He'd know what I did. He'd be ashamed of me." There's agony in your voice.

"You did what was right. Why would he be ashamed of that?"

"What was right. We have very different ideas of right, Frank."

"OK, tell me what you think is right."

"I don't know anymore. But I know what's wrong and I know what I did was wrong."

"Why would your father think it was wrong?"

"I hurt him Frank. I hurt him." You whisper this, telling me a secret you didn't want me to know.

You don't say another word, sinking back to wherever you spent the night. "I'm sure you didn't mean to. Sometimes things just get out of hand before we know it."

After a few minutes I turn the ignition and get us back on the road to Brooklyn. I wish you'd say more, but all my instincts say not to push. And we've got as long as it takes. Partner.

Twenty miles and a couple of cigarettes later you start talking again. At the same spot you stopped before, as though your mind's stuck in a loop. Like a hamster running itself into exhaustion on those wire exercise rings they put in cages.

"My father told me that a man doesn't betray his friends. He didn't tell me a man doesn't hurt his friends—that went without saying."

This's the third time you've brought up your dad. That's part of this, isn't it? Not only do you feel you betrayed Steelgrave, but that you've betrayed what your father taught you as well. How do I answer this? My old man was a bastard from the beginning, yours was a friend. And I can't say your dad was wrong because he wasn't.

"Your father was right. But sometimes things get messy in this business."

"Things get messy, Frank? That's your answer, things get messy?" Your indignant anger is a relief from that awful silence; anger I can respond to. "I hurt him—I don't have any excuse for it, and things got messy just doesn't cover it."

"Come on, Vince. I know you tried to help him. That's more than anyone else would've done." I've given this a lot of thought and it's true. I'm not sure how you managed to do it, but after you showed up, Steelgrave seemed to become pretty restrained. He still wasn't a pushover, but compared to sharks like Patrice and Mahoney, he would've been small potatoes. If holding him back was your angle Vince, it probably would've worked with the jury. Proving conspiracy is real iffy anyway. Add that to the fact that most of Steelgrave's so-called victims were willingly in business with him in the first place and he wouldn't have gotten more than five years. Not much time at all. If it hadn't been for Patrice, your plan would have worked.

"'We keep each other alive.' That's what he said. I did a great job of it, didn't I, Frank?" The self-contempt in your voice is aching.

"What, Vince?"

"Keeping him alive." You're staring out the window, not looking at me, absently rubbing your hands on your legs.

"You couldn't have known what would happen."

"I was afraid of Sid. I pushed Sonny hard because I needed him to protect me from Sid. I knew he would, but I didn't expect—" You break off, as if your thoughts are going someplace you don't want me to follow.

"You were right to be worried about Royce. Right now he'd probably sell his own grandmother to cut a deal. But what didn't you expect?"

Now you look at me, as pure an act of courage as I've ever seen. "I didn't expect to mean so much to Sonny."

"Well, that was your job. Get close to him so we could build a case."

"Not that close, not like that. Nobody should do that, for any reason."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't understand." You sigh. "And I don't think I should tell you."

"You don't have to tell me. Just talk to me." When you don't say anything, I feel around in my pocket and pull out your watch, offering it to you. "I fudged my report some. Left out the part about finding your watch. Washington won't notice since they're happy the case is closed."

You don't make a move toward it. No surprise there. Steelgrave gave you that watch to show how much you meant to him and by now you've convinced yourself you don't deserve it any more. I know you really want it though—just give it time.

"How'd you know this one was mine?"

"His was a lot more worn. I didn't know you got a new one."

"Sonny gave it to me. Not like the other one—that was just part of the clothes. This was—something special." Finally you take it from me, but instead of putting it on, you set it on the seat between us.

"You can keep it if you want. As far as the OCB knows, this one doesn't even exist."

"Maybe it should have stayed on the floor."

"You wouldn't have asked me to hold it for you if you really thought that. Just don't show up with it at headquarters. Daryl's giving me a hard time as it is."

"I don't think I'll wear it again." I glance over at you; you don't look like you even want to touch it. "Frank, that stuff you said before wasn't true, was it?"

"What stuff?"

"You said that you didn't know if you wouldn't have been tempted." Again you're was looking out at the passing scenery, rubbing your hands on your jeans.

"Who knows? Maybe if I was in your situation I would have. All my undercovers were with real lowlifes and sleazebags. The cream of the underworld crop."

"You really believe that?" You're looking at me again, and when I look over, I can see your eyes are troubled. "You really think it was the penthouse and this watch?"

"No, I don't, Vince. I just meant that they were the kind of people you'd try to avoid as much as possible."

I must have said the right thing; you look relieved. "That's it, Frank. The people."

"Well, I know it sure wasn't Royce." If I keep you talking about something besides Steelgrave for awhile maybe you'll relax enough to tell me what really happened. Not that I don't have a pretty good idea, but I think just getting it out will probably help more than anything else right now.

You roll your eyes, laughing unwillingly. "Oh, yeah, Sid'n me're real tight. I spent the night planning his escape."

"His lawyers have already been complaining. 'We're incensed that our client was held in the same cell as common criminals and we plan to file suit tomorrow.'"

This was the wrong thing to say; the light tone leaves your voice. "Common criminals. Sid should be so lucky as to spend his time with common criminals. I've **known** common criminals I'd trust more than I would him. In fact, I don't know any I wouldn't."

I don't like where this seems to be heading, so I change the subject again. "That Shanstra's a tough old coot. He let one of the state guys have it with that cane of his."

That makes you smile. "Yeah, I got some bruises myself. And Harry likes **me**." And your smile disappears. "Sid's gonna walk, isn't he?"

"Probably so. Worms like him always find a way out."

Your voice is disappearing again. "He's the one who had you grabbed."

"I thought it sounded fishy when they said Steelgrave was behind it."

"Sonny wasn't that stupid. An' quit changing the subject. You never answered my question—were you lying?"

"I wasn't lying."

"Right." Your voice comes back, strong and sarcastic. "So if somebody'd given you a nice watch and a good view, you'd've switched sides?"

"OK, probably not, but then you never told me about the rest." Truth is I was never more than just another cog in the wheel to those guys. Even the couple of cases where they spent money like water, it was easy to keep them at a distance. When you know they'd have you clipped in a heartbeat, you don't get close.

I wish you'd gotten one of those first. Time for you learn the ropes, learn how to watch out for yourself. Real world stuff they don't teach you at Quantico. Instead, Steelgrave takes you in, makes you part of his life. Trusts you more than I ever did. No wonder you liked him.

You pick up the watch, looking at the band. "What if I had?" Testing the waters, willing to talk if I give you half a chance.

"I would've said you were setting yourself up for a fall. Maybe not from Steelgrave, but you had to know there was no future in this."

"Don't think I didn't know it." There's actually some humor in your voice, a little self-deprecation. I think it's a good sign.

"But you still went ahead and did it. Sometimes you're too hard-headed for your own good."

"Tell me where I should have done something different," you challenge me.

"Besides the obvious?"

"It's not that obvious," you snap back. "It just—happened."

"I'll take your word on it; I wasn't there, so I'm no judge."

You seem to catch that I don't want the details spelled out. "It's not about that, anyway. It's about deliberately hurting someone. How can that be right? I'm not defending Sonny—I know better than anyone what he's done and what he was capable of doing. But what I did— Frank, I don't think Sonny could have done that."

"You did what you had to do."

"I understand it; it's because of the law. It's because we've got to bring proof to a jury, we've got to bring evidence. I couldn't just act directly, just shoot Sonny because we knew he was a bad guy. It's the law that does it." You're starting to get that damped down tone again, your spirit weighed down by insoluble problems.

"The law's the same for everyone. He chose his path."

"Yeah, they tell you could end up in jail or dead when you decide to break the law. But they don't tell you somebody would pretend to be your friend, pretend to be somebody you can trust—I feel so bad." And then I get it: you sound like Drake, just a kid, hurting.

I think I've finally got a handle on this. I may not be the best father in the world, but I **do** know how to talk to Drake when he's got problems. And that's what you need, someone to help you find a way out of this.

The turnoff's coming, and I get in the lane to head toward Brooklyn. At first you don't seem to notice, then you ask, "Where're we going?"

"Home. Where did you think I was taking you?"

"I don't want to go there."

For a second I have no idea what to say. Where did you think we were going? "I thought after a night in the Ritz you could use some decent sheets and a good meal."

"I can't. I can't talk to them."

"Come on, Vince. They're your family. I'm sure they're worried about you."

"She told me I was doing the right thing. She compared him to Hitler."

I have no answer for that; I don't even understand it. "Well, how about Pete's?"

"He'll call her. He'll make me go home." Your hands are moving up and down your thighs in again, a clear gesture of anxiety.

"Then where do you want to go?

"I don't know. Where are you going?"

Vince, you're making me feel like a security blanket here. "I'd planned to drop you off, then check into a motel somewhere." You start looking at me as if I'd tried to ditch you someplace and I find myself explaining. "I was going to pick you up in the morning and we'd head down to Washington. They're expecting us for debriefing tomorrow." You don't look too convinced and I'm starting to feel stupid and a little pissed off. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired. I've been on the road nearly all day."

"Why don't you check into a motel and get some rest and I'll wait in the car?"

"You can't stay in the car."

"I don't feel like getting out."

"Why not? It can't be this spacious interior." I know I shouldn't be cranky with you, but I'm worn out and you're not making much sense here. 

"You can take me wherever you want, but you can't make me get out." You're huddled in the corner of the seat, looking like a kid preparing himself for abandonment. It seems crazy, but for some reason you feel safe in my car.

"It's OK, Vince. We can go to DC now." Did I just say that? I feel like I've grown to this seat already and I just volunteered to spend another four hours behind the wheel.

But I keep driving. You look half dead anyway and if I'm lucky you'll drop off soon. Once New York's behind us you finally start to relax and before long you're out like a light. There's a rest stop in about twenty miles, I can grab a quick nap there, and you'll never know the difference.

Shit. During stakeouts I got used to sleeping in cars and I'd almost forgotten how much my neck hurt from leaning against the door. Look at you; I feel like a pretzel, you're sleeping like a baby. I make a quick visit to the john, pick up some bad vending machine coffee, and get us rolling again.

The Jersey Turnpike is pretty monotonous through here and I find myself glancing over at you periodically. That hand thing of yours keeps bugging me. What **is** that? I've been noticing it ever since I picked you up at the station and now you're doing it again, in your sleep. Maybe it's just a habit of yours, but I don't remember seeing it before. So it must be new. Now why would you suddenly start rubbing your hands on your jeans like there's something on them? Something on them... something on them... think, Frank. You know how to put together clues.

OK, I took you to the station yesterday and you weren't doing this. But now you are. So is it somehow related to the station? Did something happen there? The man outside your cell said you were alone all night so that's not it. Hmm, wait a minute. Now I remember. When I got there you still had on those torn clothes. Callicoon's finest saw no reason to have you cleaned up since you're just another Mob lowlife to them. So they left you in those bloody clothes all night.

Is that it, Vince? It wasn't just your blood on that shirt, was it? Steelgrave's was there too. You sat there all night with Steelgrave's blood on you and you couldn't get it off. And it never even occurred to me when I called the sergeant last night. Today I just made them give you your bag and let you change before we left. Damn, I must be getting slow. You don't look much like Lady Macbeth, but you're trying to get blood off your hands just like she was.

Finally I begin to hear sounds, you're slowly coming back to life. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to wake up. You've been out for three hours."

"Mm." You don't wake up too fast; you're rubbing your eyes and stretching. "Where are we?"

"Just south of Havre de Grace, Maryland."

"Never heard of it. I'm hungry."

"I'm not surprised. Jail cuisine never was five star."

"I didn't eat any anyway."

"We passed a sign for a diner about five miles back. The next turn-off should take us there."

"Yeah, OK."

It's not much more than a greasy spoon, but your black mood must be lightening up some since you get out of the car without any prodding from me. It's mid-afternoon so there're only a couple of customers, but you grab the end booth like you still want to be as far away from people as possible. One guy's sitting at the counter, sipping coffee and flirting with the waitress. In a few minutes she pries herself away from lover-boy and brings us menus and water.

"I'll have a club sandwich, slaw and coffee."

"Double hamburger with everything, fries, and onion rings. And a chocolate shake."

"I'm going out and pick up a paper. See what kind of write-up we got." The raid was supposed to be on the QT, but someone at the station must called the papers because there were a couple of reporters outside when I left for New York.

I come back in and slide into the booth. You're looking at me oddly. "I never thought about it being in the paper." You sound so detached from it all, as if it has nothing to do with you.

"Half the crime lords in the Tri-State area get picked up at once, it makes the papers."

"I forgot about them. How did that go?" Your tone is polite, and I can hear you making an effort.

"Like you'd expect. Mahoney and the other top dogs were tight-lipped since they knew their lawyers would spring them."

"You got enough on 'em?"

"Thanks to you we've got some solid leads, but not enough to press charges right now. Baglia wanted to take care of Royce and I have to tell, you it was mighty tempting."

"He's gonna walk, he's gonna come across like the perfect innocent WASP an' he's gonna walk. But I'll tell you something, the stuff he's responsible for's worse than anything Sonny ever did." I start to say something, but you're getting up from the table. "I gotta go to the can. If the food comes, don't swipe any of my fries."

You aren't gone long enough for me to start worrying. Your hair's wet at the temples and your face is pink and damp. I hope the wash-up helped.

"Food just got here. The waitress said she'd come back in case you want to order anything else."

"Yeah, maybe dessert." I watch you eat, your full concentration on your food. When the last french fry has wiped up the last dab of ketchup, your attention returns to me. "You're not eating your soup?"

"No, this sandwich is plenty for me. I could use some more coffee, though."

"C'n I have it?"

"My soup? If you want it. But are you going to have any room for it?" I know you've got to be hungry, but where do you put it all?

"What do you mean?" I slide the bowl of lukewarm tomato soup your way. "Thanks."

"I've just never seen anyone eat that much at one time."

"I'm hungry." The way you go after my soup leaves no doubt. When the soup is gone, you look around for the waitress. "Do we have time to stay for desert?"

"We'll be in DC in a couple of hours and we're not due for debriefing until ten o'clock tomorrow."

"Good. That peach cobbler looked good."

"We can do whatever you want."

"How come?"

"Because I thought you could use some down time before Daryl got a crack at you." Trying to remember all the details for an end-of-case debriefing is hard enough. But with the state you're in now there's no way you'll hold up once they start questioning you. Much less if it slips out just how close you and Steelgrave really were.

"How bad's it gonna be?"

"Depends on who you're talking to. But altogether they'll have you for a couple of days. Then usually you get called back as the AG's office prepares their case. This time—I'm not sure what they'll do." But I do know what'll happen. The official focus of the case is dead, there isn't enough on the others to get convictions; hell, the whole thing will wind up buried in some file cabinet and you will've risked your life and sanity for nothing.

"They'll pin a medal on my chest and tell me what a great job I did." You sound disgusted by the idea.

"Probably so. From their point of view you **did** do a great job."

"Yeah. OK. You going to the party?"

"As your supervisor they expect me to evaluate your performance."

"What're you gonna say?"

So, what **am** I going to say? That I think you're losing it because of Steelgrave? But I can't, that's the last thing you need to hear. And if I let on what I'm afraid of, then I might as well give you the gun myself. No, I've got to give you a noncommittal, **normal** answer.

"That you did your job getting into Steelgrave's confidence and gathering evidence."

"You think I did a good job too?"

I'm not sure if you're looking for me to agree or not, so I tell the truth. Part of it, anyway. "You upheld your oath and got us what we needed. Even when you had reasons not to." Actually I'll leave the last part out since if this goes any farther than us your career is over.

"Yeah. I'm not gonna feel like this forever, am I?" Now you're looking for a little reassurance.

"No." I say it even though I'm not so sure. You seem better now that you've had some sleep and food. But it can't be that easy.

You look relieved and attack dessert. "This cobbler's good. You want a bite?"

"No. I'll just finish my coffee."

I check my watch. It looks like we're going to hit downtown DC just at rush hour. Great. I hate traffic.

"You gonna rat me out?"

"About what?"

"You know." I wondered how long it would take you to ask this one. You've got to be worried I'm going to blow the whistle on you, but you're keeping your voice very casual; adolescent who-gives-a-shit. I keep myself from smiling.

"I'll tell you right now I wish you hadn't done it. But now that Steelgrave's dead, I don't see what purpose it'd serve to tell them."

"I thought you might think they should know." You look relieved, but I can see you're still wary.

"Why? There's no more case against him, so this wouldn't compromise the prosecution. If I reported it, the only thing that would happen is you getting kicked out for breaking the rules."

"That's what I mean."

You think I'm out to get you. Well, I better set you straight. "I don't understand it all, but I know you're a good agent. If you got close to Steelgrave then you must have had strong reasons."

"I guess I did. Right now I can't seem to remember what they were." This self-doubt isn't good.

And I'm walking a tightrope here. I don't want you carrying a torch for Steelgrave, but I also don't want you questioning yourself. "They were enough for you to do your best to save him from Patrice—and from us."

"Yeah. Yeah, he mattered to me."

"I know he did."

"I never felt like this about anyone before... I never had anybody who felt like this about me. You don't wanna hear about that—"

"Yes, I do." A big part of me doesn't, but if we're going to have any future as a team then I need to understand how your mind works. How do you turn that cop part on and off? How far does that cover persona really go? How can you look at a person like Steelgrave and separate him into two people? And you have to know you can say **anything** to me.

"I loved him. I loved him. There's nobody else I can say that to, there wasn't then and there isn't now. Nobody wants to hear it, but it's true, I love him—Frank, don't tell me all the reasons I shouldn't, none of them make a damn bit of difference, I know he's a bad guy, I know the things he did, the reason I was there, it's all true, but—somehow none of that makes me stop feeling for him. I don't know what that means about me."

"Loving someone doesn't mean you're stupid. If you went ahead with this it had to be because you saw something worthwhile in Steelgrave."

"Yeah. You won't believe me, I know, but in some ways there's a lot of honor in Sonny. And I know he really loved me."

Someday I want to have a long talk with you about honor, but now's not the time. "I saw the tape. Any of the others would have had you killed if you betrayed them."

"Yeah. Sonny loved me, I told you. I should'a known he'd do something—Patrice was after the whole thing and Sonny was in the way. What else would he do but go after Patrice himself? He sure as shit wasn't gonna give you a call—that's the problem, you know, that's where that sense of honor gets in the way."

"Committing murder is honorable?" I'm trying my best here, but sometimes it's like we're using different languages. Maybe that's why you were so convincing at Steelgrave's. You and he spoke the same language.

"Compared to turning him in, yeah, it is. I knew this wouldn't make any sense to you."

"No, it doesn't, but keep talking. Maybe you can teach me something."

You're quiet for a while, and I wonder if I should prod you a little. Then I see you were just switching gears. "We used to take afternoons off, go to ball games. He took me out on his boat—I told you about that and I could tell, you just thought he was showing off. And you were right, he was, but not like you think. He didn't do this stuff to make himself look important to me, he did it because—because a guy shows his friends his stuff. You know what I mean?"

"I understand. You liked to spend time together."

"Yeah. We had fun. It wasn't about the stuff, it was about the fun we had." You're looking at me, very directly, and I see how dangerous you are; you could con anybody. "Look, you don't think I knew I should say no? That it was a mistake, that it couldn't lead anywhere? But I couldn't. We got so close, when I was with him it was like we were the only two people either of us could trust."

I wonder about your selective memory, talking about this ultimate trust. "But he still took you on that limo ride."

"Of course. He had to keep testing me. He couldn't believe that he could trust me that much."

"It must have been a hell of a snow job persuading him that."

"Well, sure, Frank. But look at what he was seeing—me going flat-out, always anxious to take the big risk, always jumping in with both feet, no net, just me so sure I could pull it off—and I always did. He didn't see the back-up, so I must've looked like a gift from God. And I could be loyal beyond loyal because I didn't have to worry about the future. There was no future. I knew that, but it didn't stop me, did it? I jumped in there with both feet, too." 

You're gearing up again, talking fast. "I didn't wanna talk about this with Karen Malloy; the stuff she said hit too close to home, I wasn't sure I wasn't conning myself that I felt what I felt so I wouldn't feel like a whore. At least she knew Royce was just the mark; she was sure of that because he made her skin crawl. I didn't get into Sonny's bed to further the case—I wouldn't have done that. It just happened and I didn't know how to say no—hell, I didn't want to say no. If he hadn't made a move I would've, even if it meant getting whacked—"

"Vince—" I don't want to hear **this.**

"He was under my skin so deep, I was goin' nuts, but I hit him the same way, I dunno why—good luck, bad luck, something. We just clicked. And it was real, I really felt what I felt, but that's what did it, that's how I got in. And that's why what I did wrong—I used my real feelings like a _puttana_ to do a number on Sonny."

"Do you think it was a number?" I'm not just asking you because I want to know; I'm asking because I want you to stop and think about it.

"I don't know. I figure I was either a whore or an opportunist. That's not much of a choice, is it?"

"You're not a whore. If you took advantage of opportunities it's because that's what we trained you to do."

"Frank, tell me the truth. Do you respect me?"

You need an honest answer, and I'm glad I can give you one. "Respect you? You took a damned hard job and got out of it in one piece. That's hard enough to do under normal circumstances."

"No, I— I know what you thought of Sonny, but you're the only one I know right now who doesn't see Sonny as some two-dimensional monster, so you're the only one I can talk to about this. I screwed up big time."

Now we're getting to it, what's got you so messed up. "Because you loved him?"

"Yeah, that too, but I don't think I could've helped that. There's something else, though. Something I did, some really stupid thing I did."

You're talking around it. Maybe you need a little push. "You've talked about everything but what happened in the theater before we found you." That's got to be it; you stiffen up the second I mentioned that place.

You start to look away, but then you bring your gaze back to meet mine. Truth-telling time; you're not hiding anything now. "I still don't know what we were doing there. Guess I'm not gonna find out. I was chasing him and that's where he went. We got locked in—how'd we get locked in, do you know?" I know you want an answer, but not now. Right now you need to get it out. 

"Anyway, we had a fight, a big one. It started out like that first day, but then it just went to hell—I think he wanted to kill me. There were moments I wanted to kill him. We wore ourselves out and then we slept for a while. I dunno how long. When we woke up, we talked. He told me stuff—he was furious at me, but he was still trying to get close. I think he wanted me to tell him about myself, because he didn't really know me anymore. Then he just kinda went nuts, breaking stuff—I thought he was gonna go for me, but right then I wasn't even there for him." You're silent again, playing with your soup spoon, and I wonder where you've gone, what you're thinking. But I'm not going to push you unless I have to.

"We were both a little nuts, I guess. We heard the sirens and went to look and Sonny started talking about how he could plea down, how he wouldn't be doing much time, and I don't know why, I should have just let him go on—what **difference** did it make? But I just—we were arguing and I wanted to win. So I played my trump card—I told him about the tape." You drop the spoon back in the empty bowl and look at me. "You should have seen his face, Frank. I'm never gonna forget that, the way everything just died in his eyes."

I try to ease some of your guilt. "He would've found out about it anyway as soon as his lawyers tried to negotiate a deal."

You slam your hand down on the table. "You're missing the point, Frank! He would've been in a cell then, he would've been safe from himself, he would've been thinking clearly. Right that second he was an open flame and I threw on the gasoline."

I try again, still preferring your anger to your silent guilt. "You couldn't have known how he would react."

"He was unstable as hell, I knew that, but I did it anyway. I just had to win that argument. I killed him, Frank, to prove my point."

I'm not going to let you hang this one on yourself. "You didn't kill him. He did that himself."

"I pushed him. Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut?" You're looking for an answer, but not from me. Good thing, since I don't have one. "He started talking about lethal injection, it was like it was happening right there in front of me, like he was experiencing it while he was talking about it, he could feel it and I could see it."

"For Patrice?" I ask, skeptical. "Maybe if Steelgrave was some two bit street thug. But with the kind of lawyers he had it never would've happened."

"You think that didn't go through my mind a million times last night?" You're still angry, but the pain is coming through loud and clear. "If I'd thought of it earlier, if I'd said that earlier, he'd be alive. Alive, Frank. He'd hate my guts, he'd never forgive me, but he'd be alive!"

There's nothing I can say, but I have to try. "It's not your fault."

"It's not? How do you figure that?"

And I have to show you I can stand up to your anger, that you can vent and I won't back down. "You said you'd been drinking."

"Yeah." You're not convinced.

"Even in a normal situation that's going to affect your judgment. Add the kind of stress you were under, you were bound to do things you wouldn't have ordinarily."

I can see you want to go with this, but you're not going to let yourself off the hook so easy. "That's my excuse? I was drunk? Frank, that just doesn't cut it."

I stand my ground. I'm gonna pull you out of this, no matter how hard you fight me. "You said he was drinking too. Don't you think if he'd had a clear head that he would've realized he'd never get death? Maybe twenty years, but the needle? Not a chance."

And again you slam your hand down, rattling the dishes. The waitress gives us a nasty look. "Of course I know that! It didn't have to happen, but I screwed up. Frank, could you have saved him? Really? How close were you?"

"Close enough to break things up before Patrice finished breakfast," I answer immediately.

You're shaking your head. "No, I mean . . . when you were . . . giving him mouth-to-mouth."

Oh, shit. "It was a long shot, but I had to try."

"He'd never done any time, you know. You think that's what got him so spooked?" You don't want to fight me anymore, you want me to make it better.

"Maybe." I give it some thought. "The old guys could do time without batting an eye. But Steelgrave came up the easy way because his brother took the heat while he stayed out of sight— Yeah, to somebody like that, the prospect of spending the rest of his life in an eight by ten cell would be a hard one."

"I dunno if he could've done it or not. But he was working that out in his mind, until I dropped the bomb."

"Listen to me, Vince. Steelgrave being dead is **not** your fault. Sure, the prospect of jail had to get to him. But how many times have you said how tough he was? He would've been able to do it." I don't know if I believe this and I don't care. Steelgrave is not my concern, you are.

But you're back in that spiral again. "If I'd given him a chance, but I had to win that argument. I'd spent nine months giving in, tiptoeing around him, trying to figure out how to get him to see things my way when he was going in the wrong direction. And I didn't have to do that anymore! I could just flat-out tell him he was wrong—"

"So what? You think you panicked him? I saw him too, Vince, and he knew exactly what he was doing when he stuck his hand into that circuit breaker. You heard how he was yelling at us through the door. If you ask me, killing himself before he thought we were going to do it was pure defiance. A last 'fuck you' to the OCB."

"You really think so?"

I want to smack you one, but I hold your hand instead, look you straight in the eye and soften my voice. "Yes, I do." I hope like hell this works because I've tried everything else. I can see you're surprised by the contact, but that's quickly replaced by something else. I'm not sure what it is—you can be damned hard to read—but you aren't rejecting the idea outright. It's a small step, but right now I'll take anything I can get.

I don't finish this because you're guilty enough as it is and hearing this would wreck any progress I've made. But truth is that even if the courts didn't get him, Steelgrave had to know his own people would. The minute you'd finally convinced him to trust you with everything, his death warrant was signed.

The Families expect to be investigated and they know we've been trying to get inside them for years. But one of their own holding open the door isn't something they'd forgive and forget. And that's just what Steelgrave did when he gave you the keys to the crown jewels. The fact that you had him completely fooled wouldn't make any difference. In fact, it'd be worse since they'd think he should've been sharp enough to see through you from the beginning. Once they got their hands on him we would've have found him dead somewhere, with his hands cut off like that capo, Napolitano. An object lesson to make rest of their members think twice about trusting somebody new.

Nope, Steelgrave's goose was doubly cooked and he knew it. No wonder he took his own way out. I don't believe I'm saying this about a hood, but I have to respect him for not letting people push him around. I like to think I'm the same way, "Don't-Tread-On-Me" McPike. But between Daryl at work and Jenny at home, my back feels like it's covered in footprints. Maybe a little vicarious gratification isn't so unreasonable.

As soon as I think of her it comes to me why my explanations aren't having much effect. I've been expecting you to see the logic of the situation and come around, like this was just another case. But you're in that spot where logic and common sense don't mean much of anything. You're in love, just like I'm in love with Jenny. And that makes all the difference doesn't it, Vince? Both of us could come up with a dozen reasons we shouldn't be. Why we should walk away and not look back.

But none of them make one bit of difference. Because of that feeling deep down in our gut saying that other person is part of you. And hurting them would be like cutting off your own arm. Even with all the fights and the silence I'd still do anything for Jenny. Do anything to protect her. Just like you and Steelgrave. And if I lost her the way you did him—I don't even want to **dream** about that.

On the third ring I finally catch our wake-up call and stumble to the bathroom. Between worrying about you and driving five hundred miles in two days, my whole body hurts. I could've slept a week. But ten minutes soaking my head in the shower and I'm starting to feel human again.

"'Bout time," you say when I come out of the bathroom.

"And good morning to you, Mary Sunshine."

You don't laugh, but I do catch a smile. "Is there **any** hot water left?"

"Har-de-har-har." I finish drying and get dressed. When I hear the shower turn off, I call out to you, "There's a coffee shop across the street if you want some breakfast."

The door opens quickly and you come out, dripping water. "Great, I was starting to get hungry."

You're thinking about food again. Good.

Twenty minutes later you're digging into eggs and bacon. Cereal and a pot of coffee for me. Maybe it was our conversation in the restaurant or just a good night's sleep, but you seem a lot better today. That haunted look in your eyes is gone and you were actually joking back at the motel.

On the road again, and I've made a decision. I've been thinking about it since last night and I'm going to force them to give you a leave of absence once everything's wrapped up. I should've been smart enough to see past that tough guy attitude of yours. Seen it for the facade it was. But I wasn't, and now you're still about two inches from the edge. That kind of hurt doesn't heal overnight, it doesn't heal for a long time. And time is one thing I'm making sure you get.

Daryl won't like this one bit. You're his latest hotshot so he'll want you back on the job to grab him some more headlines. But if Steelgrave was willing to face down his bosses for you, then how can I do any less?

As we park in one of the lots down the street I can see you're apprehensive about facing debriefing.

"Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"You're gonna stay with me, right?"

"From now on, Vince. That's what partners do."

This is really more Ninon's story than it is mine, which is surprising considering how she feels about Frank. *g*

**Author's Note:**

> This is really more Ninon's story than it is mine, which is surprising considering how she felt about Frank. *g*


End file.
